


There's a thing in my pocket

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-31
Updated: 2008-06-11
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "There's a thing in my pocket". Different people, different pockets, different things, different stories. ~[Fifteen - Blood]~





	1. Book

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**AN.** I've been a reader for a long time now, but I thought I'd finally write something. The idea for this story is taken from the TV ad for the Nokia N95 (in case you hadn't already cunningly guessed). Each chapter will be a different "thing". Some people will have more than one thing, but each thing will be in a different chapter. Get it? 

**Disclamer.** I own nothing. All things you've seen in the Harry Potter books or films belong to JKR and all associated companies/publishers/producers. "There's a thing in my pocket" and anything you've seen in the adverts belongs to Nokia. I'm just borrowing

**Reviews** are like cookies and my boyfriend. They make me smile. 

*~*

**Book – Remus Lupin**

His mother has always found it irritating. Buying trousers is near impossible. Whenever she attempts to take him shopping to get him another pair he tells her that there’s no point because (a) he’s already got _three_ pairs, and that is _more_ than enough, (b) he’ll never wear them and, (c) they never have big enough pockets. 

And then, as usual, she replies that (a) three pairs is most certainly _not_ enough, (b) yes he damn well _will_ wear them and, (c) why in the name of God’s green earth would you need to carry around a book in your _pocket?_

She doesn’t understand. 

Books are the one thing that are solid and permanent. The one thing that never change. The one thing that can be completely battered, yet still perfect. Books have perfect grammar. Books can hold hundreds of ideas in 300 pages. Books are words and words are everything. A book can be a whole life, and can change someone’s life. 

To be honest, Remus wishes he could carry his entire bookshelf in his pocket, but even he’ll admit that that would be ridiculous. He wishes he could keep every book in the world close to him. Shakespeare, Yeats, Salinger, Byron, Hugo, Kipling, Shaw, Caroll, Pinter, Dickens, Milton. But he can’t. So everyday he settles for just one of his many tattered, tired old beautiful books. 

Remus Lupin only has three pairs of trousers – which is just perfect by him – because each of those pairs can hold a book in its pocket.

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It can speak a million words, it can tell a whole life, yet it has no voice. A book. Perfection._


	2. Ribbon

**Ribbon – James Potter, 4th Year**

It was technically the worst desk in class. It was right next to the window with the dirty glass (so you couldn’t see out of it) and which didn’t even open (so you couldn’t get the fresh air). It was right in the corner, so you couldn’t really sit next to your friends and because of its position, the teacher could easily see what you were doing. So no one really understood why James Potter was always quite so anxious to get that particular desk. 

But for James, it was the most perfect desk in the classroom. Most perfect desk in the entire bloody school. Why? Because Lily Evans always sat in the desk just in front. 

He could see the way the sunlight reflected off her smooth hair and made her skin glow. He could watch as she reached her arm behind her and trailed her hand along the back of her neck as she flipped her long red hair over her shoulder. He could see the thin strip of white skin just above her knickers as her shirt hitched up. He could watch her little hand scribbling down notes. He could watch her fiddling with the ribbon she used to tie up her hair as she thought about something. And if she crossed her legs and he leaned to the side, he could see her seemingly endless legs trailing on the floor. 

This lesson was no different. Lily fiddled with her ribbon and scribbled down her notes, Remus listened to the professor, Sirius threw rolled up balls of paper at people’s heads, girls subtly passed notes to each other and James stared at Lily. The blue ribbon on her hair was coming loose. As she furiously worked at her notes the ribbon began to slip down the back of her head. 

Suddenly the bell rang and everyone started moving. James stood up and pretended to fiddle with his books as he stared at Lily packing up her things. As she moved the ribbon finally dropped to the floor, falling in a soft silent pool by her feet.

“Come on, Lily!” some Gryffindor girl called.

“Coming,” she said as she hurried out of the classroom 

James dawdled as students poured out of the classroom. 

“Hurry up, James, mate,” called Sirius, holding the door open for him. 

“S’alright. You go. I’ll catch you up.” 

Sirius just shook his head and let the door swing as he sped out.

When James heard the door click shut he picked up his bag and walked over to her desk. 

He bent down and picked up the ribbon. He ran the colored piece of silk through his fingers. With one hand, he wrapped it around his palm and stroked the end between his thumb and forefinger. 

He grinned as he slipped it into his pocket.

~

James Potter is frequently seen with his right hand in his pocket. Everyone assumes it’s just a habit, something he does subconsciously, not even thinking. 

But they’re wrong. When he puts his hand into his pocket to fiddle with the ribbon, he does it purposefully. He may be dreaming when he does it, but he’s always thinking. Always thinking of her. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It reminds me of her. It’s there, soft and gentle and calming and_ real _. And if I can’t have her…well. At least I’ve got something that’s part of her._


	3. Lighter

 

**AN -** I am _so_ sorry that it has taken me this long to get this chapter up. I actually had it ready about two weeks ago, then finally posted it last week, but then it turns out I didn't post it because my computer is acting funny. And now I've had to send it off for repairs (which means I won't see my darling computer again for several weeks) so I'm having to borrow my Dad's so basically, updates won't be very quick unlike I'd hoped. So, sorry about that.

This chapter is a bit of a different style from the last two. Hope you like it. Please review once you're done. I know it's kinnd of pathetic, but it really does make me happy.

**Lighter – Peter Pettigrew**

Peter had always had problems with his parents: his father was overly strict and his mother was overly protective. From the age of five to eleven he was known by all his peers as the little chubby boy who was never allowed to set foot out the house without his mother looming over his shoulder. He wasn’t allowed to walk to school like all the other kids: he had to be escorted down the one leafy suburban street. He couldn’t just go out and see friends: his mother would have to call up other parents to organise ‘play-dates’. 

But though he knew that the only reason his parents were like that was because they cared about him, he got the impression that it was all slightly false and forced. They didn’t _really_ love him. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. It was just that, they seemed to care more about making sure Peter was being a good son, rather than Peter himself.

So the day that Peter got his Hogwarts acceptance letter was truly the happiest day of his life. Not just because it meant that his father wouldn’t be there punishing him for every time he stepped out of line, and not just because it meant being free from his mother’s overprotecting vulture-like glare, but because it meant a chance to make friends with people who _he_ wanted to be friends with, not just the losers who his mother deemed ‘appropriate’. Some real friends, as opposed to play-dates. 

~

Peter had known the three Gryffindor boys for a year before he became friends with them. 

James and Sirius had hit it off instantly. By the end of their first week at Hogwarts the pair was inseparable. They were the best-looking, most arrogant, most popular, funniest boys in the year who everyone secretly wished to be friends with. They soon became the two best-known first years in the school. 

Remus only joined them nearer the end of the first term. Some people thought it odd that Remus Lupin, this quiet, hard-working Prefect-in-the-making became friends with the two infamous Gryffindors. But not Peter. He understood the friendship. James and Sirius needed Remus. They needed someone a bit different from them. Someone who’d make sure they got their important essays done, but would let them get away with not doing every piece of homework. Someone to add a wittier, more intellectual edge to their shared sense of humour. Someone who could help them with any pranks that required a bit of forward planning. 

Peter so wanted to be friends with the boys. To be recognised by people in school as one of them. But he knew how it worked. He couldn’t just _be_ friends with them, and their mothers couldn’t organise play-dates and forced friendships. No. Peter understood how to play the game. 

So he had watched them. Not in a creepy-stalker-like-those-first-year-girls-who-are-obsessed-with-them way. It was more... observational. 

So by the end of first year, Peter knew pretty much everything there was to know about the Gryffindor boys. From the trivial things like, what Remus’ favourite jumper was (the dark blue one with the three little holes under the arm) and how Sirius liked his toast in the morning (white bread, lightly toasted with a thin layer of butter and dollops of jam, which inevitably ended up attractively all over his shirt front) and where James kept his underwear (technically it was in the third drawer down in the chest opposite Sirius’ bed, but in actuality it was scattered all over the dormitory). But he also knew the bigger, more important things, from a year of keen-sightedness and eavesdropping. He knew about Remus’ financial problems and that he disappeared every month or so for a few days. He knew about how Sirius’ family had banned him from being friends with James and Remus and how Sirius was planning – and he was pretty serious about it – to run away and stay with James. He knew about James’ ageing, but ever-devoted parents and his worst fear that one or both of them would die before he left Hogwarts.

After a while, Peter knew enough about the boys to hold onto a friendship with them. He knew about what they did, where they went, what they hated, what they loved and most importantly, what they needed. Then, when they needed it, he could be there, ready and waiting, providing what they needed. Yes, Peter was sure that he could manage to stay friends with them. 

All he needed now was some kind of... initiation. But it had to be just right. It couldn’t be a chance meeting in the corridor, or being randomly partnered together in a lesson. It had to be something they needed him for. Something which they had to ask to do. Peter just had to think of what the something was. 

So that was how it came to pass that on the first day of their second year at Hogwarts, James Potter’s school robes had _happened_ to find themselves draped over one of the signs hanging from the ceiling at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. 

Peter stood at the side of the platform and watched as James and Sirius attempted to get them down. He watched as they tried to jump up and grab it, both of them getting no further than managing to look like complete and utter fools in the process. He had watched as they both got out their wands then realise that they weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school. He had watched James had tried to lift Sirius onto his shoulders (and the other way round too) and then promptly collapse into a heap, as both boys were so tall they toppled over immediately. 

It was only when he heard Sirius curse loudly that Peter began his stroll past the boys, trying as hard as he could to pull off that effortlessly-cool look that James and Sirius practically own. 

James and Sirius looked around, lost. An idea struck Sirius as he saw the short chubby boy he shared a dorm with walking past them. 

“Oy, Pettigrew!”

James turned to face him with a look on his face of pure _what the hell?_

“What the hell, Sirius?” James muttered as Peter began to walk towards them.

Peter kept his hands oh-so-casually in his pockets and attempted to let his arms swing as he walked with a slight bounce in his step.

What Peter did not realise was that he looked somewhat like a robotic penguin, with his elbows sticking out like that and had hands seemingly glued into his too-high-up pockets.

“Give us a hand will you, mate?”

With both boys supporting him, Peter managed to retrieve James’ robes. 

There were no Official Thank Yous and no offers of life-long friendship, but Peter got to sit with them on the train, which was a perfect opportunity in itself. When the food trolley came round he knew exactly what to get everyone, without even having to ask: Bertie Botts’s Every Flavour Beans for Sirius (his favourite were the extra sour lime ones), a couple of Chocolate Frogs for James (he still collected the cards) and a plain bar of chocolate for Remus (he preferred it plain and simple, and hated the way they “always felt the need to _pollute_ perfectly good chocolate with rubbishy extras”).

He sat with them at the feast at dinner, talked to them in the common room that evening, helped them find their books the next morning and went to all their lessons with them the next day. The three boys soon grew used to Peter being around, even if he usually did nothing more than sound agreement to everything they said and run around carrying things for them. So much so, that when he wasn’t there they actually noticed, and kind of – in an odd, slightly convoluted way – missed him. And after a while, it was difficult to imagine the group without him, not just for James, Sirius and Remus, but for the rest of the school as well, who saw them going around everywhere together. 

And for Peter, it was perfect. He had gotten everything he had wanted: to be considered cool, to have friends, to be liked, to be _needed_. 

~ 

Peter would always remember the first time Sirius offered him a roll-up. 

He had taken one puff and promptly collapsed to the floor in a coughing fit, causing both Sirius and James to nearly piss themselves laughing. 

The boys didn’t smoke regularly, just occasionally on boring weekends. James smoked about as much as Sirius, but Sirius was the one who always started it off. Remus would try and decline and usually get away without having to have any. Sirius would always tell Peter to try it, and call him a woman when he refused, but then James would remind him that whatever Peter didn’t smoke was more for them to enjoy. 

Sirius always carried a joint in his pocket and he would say that the only reason he didn’t smoke more often was because he always lost his bloody lighter, and wands didn’t really work when you tried to use them in combination with drugs. 

Soon after Sirius introduced Peter to the “World of Weed” (as he liked to call it when he was especially high), Peter saw another opportunity for him to show his unfailing loyalty once again.So he began to carry around a lighter in his pocket. Because then, it fell out of his pocket “by accident”, people would think he was just as hard-core as Sirius and James were. 

But not just that. But because it was another chance to provide something for his two best friends. So every time Sirius would need a light, Peter would be able to offer his. Unlike Remus, he didn’t try and discourage the other two from smoking, though he knew what the risks were. It didn’t really matter about what _might_ happen to them _sometime_ in the future. What mattered was what he could definitely give them _now_.

So now, when Sirius says, “Where the fuck is my bloody lighter?” the other three boys all say different things. 

“Got another joint for your best mate, Pads?” says James.

“Not again. This is the third bloody time this week,” says Remus, and before Sirius can reply, adds, “And _don’t_ call me a woman.”

“Here you go, Sirius. I’ve got a lighter you can use,” says Peter. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s something cool, and people think_ I’m _cool when they know I’ve got it. I don’t use it that much, but Sirius and James do. But I keep hold of it for them. Because they need it. Because they need me to have it. Because they need me._

 


	4. Photograph

**Photograph – Lily Evans**

Lily Evans didn’t really have many friends. There wasn’t a single girl at Hogwarts she would classify as a close friend. Sure, she was popular enough. But they weren’t really _friendships_ as such. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the people she hung around with. Not at all – they were lovely. They liked her, she liked them. It’s just that she was smart enough to realise that they weren’t exactly _lasting bonds_. She spent time with them because they were nice people who she could talk to about things – superficial things, but it was still talk – and it was convenient. It sounded awful to say it like that. _Convenient_. But it was true. She needed people to spend time with and talk to and have a laugh with and so did they.

They’d talk about stuff and even shared secrets, but it was all so…insignificant. None of it _mattered_. Everything they talked about was unimportant in the greater scheme of things, and in Lily’s opinion, that couldn’t really be a true friendship. Not unless you talked about _real_ things. It was probably also to do with being girls. Girls were naturally bitchy, and – not that Lily was a saint by any means, but – she just wasn’t like that. 

It seemed odd that the person she felt closest to was a boy, and one of James Potter’s best friends. Remus. She could talk about real things with him. He understood that she wasn’t being pretentious, just curious and intelligent and questioning. With Remus, she could talk about books and people and time and life and politics and stars and everything and nothing and _real_ things.

When people asked who she was friends with, she'd tell them the usual list of Gryffindor girls and a couple of boys. Even though she didn't feel that close to any of them, and doubted whether she'd keep in touch with them after Hogwarts, they were her companions, her room-mates. She felt closest to Remus, because they talked about things and they _understood_ each other - they were on the same wave-length. But she couldn't very well say that he was her closest friend becasue firstly, he was James' friend and also she doubted that he shared her feelings of friendship, and even if he did, he'd never say anything about it to anyone. And anyway, even with Remus it wasn't quite perfect - there was something not there, though Lily never knew what it was. 

So no, Lily Evans didn’t have any real friends. People liked her and she liked them, she was popular and got along with people, but there was none of that utter intimacy that there should be between friends.

For some people, they’d say that their friends _were_ their family. But for Lily, her family was all she had. She had always believed that blood was thicker than water, and that there was something so unique and special about a family that no friendship could ever come close to those simple yet perfectly intimate relationships that came so naturally within a family. They were the closest thing to her heart. So she kept them close to her. 

It was the most special thing she ha d, that picture. It was a picture of her mum, dad, Petunia and her. She was about eight years old and Petunia was eleven or so. Lily was wearing a blue checked shirt dress – one of Petunia’s old ones – and Petunia was wearing cropped pink trousers and a white vest top. They were hugging closely, both arms wrapped tightly around each others waists. The sun was shining their faces, lighting up their grinning expressions even more. Their parents were standing behind them, both with one arm around the other and one hand on the shoulder of one girl. 

For Lily, this picture represented something so special and so sacred it was worth more than anything else in the world to her. It showed the love her sister had once felt for her. It showed the love their parents had once felt for each other. It showed the love of a family: the one thing that could keep them together but would soon fade and tear them apart. 

After Lily’s father had left; after her mother had started finding ways to “escape”; and after Petunia had started to tell Lily that she hated her, the picture was all Lily had left. 

She would always prefer still Muggle photographs to the moving magical ones. Magical photos _were_ cool, but the novelty wore off after a while. This photograph captured a moment. Not a few seconds of movement. But a single moment. In a few seconds, someone could change the world, but in a moment, everything was still and unchanging. And in that moment, that one moment, everything had been perfect. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a picture of everything just the way it was before…all that. It’s a picture of a moment when everything was good and right. They say a picture tells a thousand words. This one tells a million – my life._


	5. Sherbet Lemon

**AN** \- This was written before the JKR interview when she said that Dumbledore was gay. So I guess it's not cannon. (But like I've said before, I don't think she should do interviews - leave filling in the gaps to the fandom). But yeah, if you're a cannon-purist, then you probably won't approve of this chapter. Just giving you a heads up. ~Bella~

**Sherbet Lemon – Albus Dumbledore**

Small. Sweet. Sour. Sticky.

Sherbet Lemons.

He was never without them.

There was something so special about reaching into your pocket and finding it there. Not easily reachable, no – you had to dig down into that little corner bit, where they always seemed to sneak to. You could hear the crinkly clear plastic even before you could feel it. Then you’d take it out and pull gently (but firmly nonetheless) at both ends, and the plastic would uncurl and open and then, it would drop out into your lap. A little yellow oval of perfection.

Even now, as old as he was, as many Sherbet Lemons as he had seen, as many of them as he had eaten, he would still smile when he saw it sitting there.

He would always remember his first one.

_“Try one, Albus. You’ll like it.”_

_She smiles sweetly as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into him and brings her clenched fist up towards her face. They are sitting side by side on the garden wall outside her house. They sit so close he can almost touch her, almost feel his knee brushing against hers, almost fell her hair tickling his face. Almost, but not quite._

_He shifts his gaze from her pink lips to her now open palm. A single yellow sweet in clear plastic wrapping. Nothing special._

_He takes it from her hand. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out anther, unwraps it and quickly pops it into her mouth._

_She turns to him and smiles._

_He closes his eyes and leans forward. He pushes his lips towards hers, but stops when he feels her fingers on his mouth._

_“Go on. Try it,” she says softly._

_He does. It’s sour. Too sour. And sweet. Sickly sweet. And sticky. Sticky all over his mouth._

_“Like it?”_

_No. But he likes her. He_ loves _her. And she likes them._

_“Mm-hmm.”_

_He forces himself not to pull a face because of the sourness._

_“You know,” she says, turning away from him, “I’m a bit like a Sherbet Lemon. Not that I’m yellow. Obviously. But I’m small. And sweet.” She giggles. “And quite sour. And you might not like me at first, but I’ll grow on you. And I’m kind of interesting.” She smiles. Her face softens. “And you like me.”_

_“Yes,” he says._

_He leans forward again and presses his lips to hers. This time she doesn’t pull back. It’s a brief kiss. A flickering moment._

_“I love Sherbet Lemons,” he says._

She had been right. Sherbet Lemons did grow on him. And then, he was never without them. Not just because he _did_ grow to like them as much as her. Not just because they were so comforting. Not just because it was a habit. But because they _were_ just like her.

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s small and sweet and sour and kind of interesting. And I like it. I love it._

**AN – Hmm. I’m not sure whether or not I like this chapter. I re-wrote it quite a few times. Anyway, as always, reviews are like cookies and my boyfriend – they make me smile. ~Bella~**

 


	6. Thimble

**AN -** Before you read this I want to apologise three times. First, for taking _so so_ long to update. Second, in advance for any mistakes/grammatical errors in this (I wrote it a while ago, but I'm posting in a rush, having not had a proper read-through). And thirdly and most importantly: Jacob - I'm sorry.

**Thimble – Ronald Weasley**

~

Ron enters the common room through the portrait hole. He doesn’t have to look around for her. He knows exactly where she’ll be and what she’ll be doing. 

He walks over to the fire. She’s curled up in her favourite chair in the Gryffindor common room – the old red leather one with the battered corner, next to the fire – an open book in her lap. 

“What’you reading?” asks Ron, grinning at how predictable it all is. He drops into the chair opposite Hermione.

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t even have to look up. She knows it’s him. She holds up the book for him to see – still reading it – in response to his question. 

It’s one of those old books: dull green in colour, all over; tattered spine; and across the front, in plain gold lettering, it says “ _Peter Pan_ ” _._

Ron has never heard of it. Must be a Muggle book. 

Actually, scratch that. He probably wouldn’t know it even if it was a Wizard book. 

She brings the book back down to her lap again and continues reading.

Ron smiles. She looks so nice, just sitting there. It’s not that she’s particularly beautiful. He knows that Hermione hates the way she looks. But Ron always thinks she looks...nice. Not beautiful the way some other girls are and she’s not the type of girl you and your mates would talk about. Just pretty in her own, different way. 

Her usually pale skin looks warm underneath the glow of the firelight. Her small body looks comfortable and cosy. Her bushy hair frames her face, accenting her small, delicate features. 

He suddenly feels an overwhelming urge to run over to her, bundle her up in his arms and kiss her passionately in front of the whole common room.

But he’s Ron. 

And she’s Hermione. 

So he doesn’t. 

He sits for a few minutes, silently watching her. He thinks that she’s forgotten that he’s sitting there.

But she hasn’t. She has now read the same sentence for the twelfth time. She finds it difficult to concentrate, knowing that someone’s watching her. Especially if that ‘someone’ is Ron.

Ron stands up and walks towards her. He perches inelegantly on the arm of her chair. 

“Hermione...” he says softly, over her head. 

Her eyelids flutter closed for the briefest of moments before she turns to face him. She smiles, but then she suddenly realises how close they are and bites her lip.

“Yes?” she says, her own voice close to a whisper.

He looks into her large chocolate coloured eyes. He knows he wants to kiss her. He’s sure she wants him to kiss her, judging from the way she’s leaning close to him and moving her face towards his. He knows that everyone else – meaning Harry and Ginny – thinks that he should “just go on and kiss her already, mate”.

So why is it so hard?

He blinks slowly. They stay like that for what seems an eternity. 

“Er...” he begins, and then resigns himself to, “Can I borrow that book sometime?”

She exhales and smiles a half-smile. “Sure. It’s one of my favourites.”

She watches him walk away from her and bound up the stairs two at a time. Hermione hears the boys dormitory door slam and returns to her book. 

~

**Two days later**

“Here,” says Hermione, holding out her clenched fist to him. She opens her hand.

“What is it?” Ron asks looking at the thing in her open palm. It looks like a tiny metal cup. It has regular little dents on the outside, and one larger dent near the tip, obviously from being banged about . He picks it up somewhat gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it up to his eye level and squints as he twists it around, trying to determine (a) what the hell it is and (b) why the hell she’s given it to him. 

“A thimble,” says Hermione, beaming. 

“Er...okay,” he says slowly, still completely bewildered. 

“It’s for you,” she says. “Oh!” She suddenly crouches down and searches through her bag. She pulls out the old green book she was reading before. 

“And here’s _Peter Pan_. For you. To borrow. Let me know when you finish.”

“Um...thanks.”

“It’s okay,” she says cheerily. She grins at him before darting off down the corridor. 

Ron watches her go and mutters to himself, “Mental”.

~

**Later that evening**

“Hermione gave me something today,” Ron says from his bed. 

“What’s that then?” Harry asks, clearly not particularly bothered. 

“Well two things actually,” Ron doesn’t notice his friend’s blatant disinterest. “She lent me this book, ‘cause I asked her two a couple of days ago and –”

“ _You_ asked _her_ to lend _you_ a book? God, you must be desperate, mate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Actually, you know what...never mind. Anyway, she lent me this book. It looks pretty old. I reckon it’s a Muggle book. D’you know it?”

“Well I don’t know what it’s called, so no.”

“ _Peter Pan_.”

“ _Peter Pan_? By J M Barrie?”

“Er...Yeah. I guess so. Why?”

“Well it’s just...that’s a kid’s book. I read it when I was ten.”

“Well Hermione was reading it, so it can’t be _that_ childish. Anyway, she also gave me this.” He took the thimble from his pocket. “A thim-bul.” 

“Oh,” says Harry slowly, a grin of realisation dawning on his face.

“What?” asks Ron, somewhat annoyed that he’s not a part of this apparent secret about Peter bloody Pan. 

“Read it, mate,” says Harry, leaving the dormitory. 

Ron shakes his head, settles into his bed and then opens the book. 

_All children, except one, grow up..._

~

**Three days later**

“Hermione.”

She turns to see Ron standing in front of her, holding the book. 

“Yeah?” 

He comes closer to her, trying to be as casual as possible. 

“So, I er...” he pauses and looks at the book in his hands, “I finished the book.” 

“Oh,” she says, so softly he can barely hear it. 

“That wasn’t a real thimble you gave me.”

“Yes it was,” she says indignantly, “I went to that shop in Hogsmeade and the woman said that –”

She’s stopped mid-flow as Ron takes a step towards her and puts his finger to her lips.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asks, surprised, confused.

“Giving you a real thimble.”

He leans down and kisses her full on the mouth. He moves one hand behind her back and the other at the back of her head and continues kissing her. 

Hermione relaxes and allows her body to fit into his, completely supported by him. She moves her hands up his back and into his hair.

They are both blissfully unaware of the common room full of people staring at them.

Ron gently pulls away after several minutes of kissing and back-of-the-throat-noises and face-cupping and hair-stroking and the like. He bends down and picks up the book which at some point must have fallen to the floor. 

“Here’s the book back,” he says, holding it out to her. “But I’ll keep hold of that... _kiss_ you gave me. If you don’t mind.”

Hermione smiles. 

Ron laughs. He’s finally part of the secret about Peter bloody Pan. 

And it’s not much of a secret anymore – certainly not with a whole common room full of confused people watching – but it’s bloody brilliant. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a thimble. Cold, hard, flawed. But that's not what it really is. It’s a kiss. Warm, soft, perfect. It’s_ her _kiss._


	7. Camera

**AN -** So I've been away for awhile doing various...stuff. Read DH. Loved it, though not as much as HBP, I have to say. Anyway, thanks to all who reviewed. It really does make my day. So here's the next chapter. I actually had the idea for this a long time ago, but with James rather than Snape. But - especially post-DH - this fits way better. 

I've been writing lots of stuff recently, but almost all of it is MWPP-era. I think I'll juts go ahead and post what I've written, but if anyone reading feels that I really should do some other stuff, then I will. (Maybe.)

Please review if you liked it, or if you didn't.

~

**Camera - Severus Snape**

The first time he had seen Lily Evans he had known. Known that she was beautiful, known that she was magical, known that she was perfect. 

He watched the small pale girl wearing a pretty green summer dress; her beautifully curled long red hair falling around her shoulders. He watched as she danced around the garden, showering herself with flower petals without ever actually touching them. 

It was then that Severus remembered the old family camera. He took and kept it, knowing that no one would miss it: there was little use for a camera within the Snape household. After that, every time he went to watch Lily through the gap in the fence he brought the camera and took photo after magical photo of the beautiful girl. 

To Severus, it seemed like fate when an old aunt gave him a Never Ending Notebook for Christmas. It was a large book with black pages, bound by silver ribbon. It started out only a few pages thick, but every time he used a page it would replenish itself.

At first, he religiously stuck every single photo into The Lily Book (as he had written on the front in silver lettering) but after a while he began to distinguish between the good shots (when Lily was smiling and Severus had managed to hold the camera still) and the bad ones (when Lily had been frowning at a noise Severus had made and he had been forced to duck down out of her eye-line). 

In the summer months, he went day after day and snapped greedy photos of her in the garden, hating it whenever Petunia came along (she was ugly and ruined the photos and she got angry and suspicious). 

When Severus eventually revealed himself to Lily he was constantly anxious that she thought he was weird. But he opened up to her, told her everything, introduced her to the world of magic, cared for her, _loved_ her. And of course, because Lily was so good and so wonderful, she understood Severus. The two of them shared the secret of Magic, and Sev used that secret to keep Lily for himself, keep her with him, away from Petunia and the Muggle world. Lily was so fascinated by everything that Sev told her, so absorbed in Magic – and subsequently in Sev – that she would happily spend all her time alone with him, in the clearing in the forest near where they lived, and where they always had their Secret Magical Meetings. 

Once they became friends, Severus began to get even more photos than before. He would get out the camera at every opportunity and tell Lily to “Smi-ile!” In the beginning, Lily had loved the attention and loved seeing moving photos of herself, so she would pose, smiling her sweet smile. But soon it got boring and she would pull stupid faces for him, despite his cries of “Come on Lily! Do a _nice_ one!”

One day, a little while after they had gotten their Hogwarts letters, they were sitting in the forest, Lily on a tree stump, Sev on the floor, when he got out his camera. 

“Oh not the camera _again_ , Sev!” Lily moaned.

“I just want to take a photo of you, to, er, remember…this moment!”

“But this moment is just like all the _other_ moments when we’re in the forest. And anyway, I look horrible today, so –” 

“No! You look beautiful,” he reassured her, before adding, shyly, “You always look beautiful.”

She sighed and smiled. “You’re really sweet Sev, but I just don’t want any more photos. It’s _boring_.” There was a pause as she looked nervously at him, “And it’s creepy.”

“It’s not creepy because I’m your friend! We are friends, right?”

“Of _course_ we’re friends, Sev.”

“Then I can take a picture of you?”

She sighed but then an idea struck her, “Take one of both of us!”

“What? No.”

“Why not?” “Because I’ll ruin it.”

“Don’t be silly, silly. Why would you ruin it?”

“Because you’re beautiful and I’m ugly.”

She walked over to him, saying, “Tuny says that friends are what make us beautiful. She says that,” she frowned, trying to remember her sister’s words, “She says that when two friends are together, they both look beautiful because…because the beauty of their friendship shines and makes them both beautiful. Something like that.” She took the camera from him. “So we’ll both look beautiful!”

She sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulders, pushing their heads together before extending her arm to take the photo.

When Sev got home he examined the now developed photo. Lily looked perfect as always, her mouth grinning, her eyes smiling. Her fringe flopped into her eyes and she pushed it off her face, still smiling. Sev looked less than beautiful, his own huge grin contorting his face making him look slightly crazed whilst his greasy black hair hung low on his forehead. Sev watched the photo as his own image turned to look at Lily as she pushed back her fringe. As he gazed at her, a more gentle smile spread across his mouth before he turned back to face the camera and grinned his maniacal grin again.

But Severus didn’t care how weird he looked because it was a photo of him and Lily together and Lily looked beautiful enough for the two of them. 

He gave Lily a copy of the photo the next day. “Oh, Sev! It’s lovely.” She watched the photo. “Look at my stupid fringe! And then you looked at me. Oh, that’s sweet.” She looked at him, “It reminds me of how beautiful our friendship is.” She giggled. “I’ll keep it forever.”

Severus stuck the photo into The Lily Book, positioning it more carefully than ever before, stuck right in the middle of its very own page. Then, using the silver quill he had stolen from his father, drew all around the photo, filling up the page with swirling patterns, doodles of Lily and Sev together, and their names scrawled over and over again. At the top of the page, he wrote in his neatest big writing, “Lily and Sev, Beautiful Friends Forever.” Finally, he closed the book and squeezed his own name into the title, changing it to “The Lily and Sev Book”.

Once they started Hogwarts, he kept the book going, hidden under his bed and took photos whenever possible. But as Lily began to make other friends and spend more time with fellow Gryffindors and less time with Sev,  the photographic diary of his life with Liyl became erratic. As the light of their friendship began to dim, ever-so-slightly, ever-so-slowly, he became wary of anything that could upset the balance of their delicate relationship. He would only ask for photos when their really was a genuine reason. But Sev could not be happy with just a few photos a month. So, to satisfy his growing hunger for photos of Lily he would try and capture pictures of her when she wasn’t looking. Flicking through the later stages of the book, the pictures reminded him more and more of the earliest ones he had taken: Lily outside in the school grounds, not looking at the camera, laughing at something else, usually alone in the shot, but sometimes there would be the side of someone else’s face or arm. 

One day, Severus returned alone to his dormitory to find James Potter standing by his bed holding The Lily And Sev Book open in his hands, flicking through the pages, a disgusted look on his face. 

“What is this, Snivellus?” he spat at Severus when he walked in.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Severus yelled, “This isn’t your dorm! Get out, get out! You’re not allowed to be here, _get out_!”

“You didn’t answer my question. What is this?”

Severus lunged for the book but James’ Quidditch trained reflexes were infinitely faster.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” He pointed his wand at the book and watched it float upwards just above Severus’ head, just within James’ eye-line. Severus did not bother trying to grab the book. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to remove it from within the confines of James’ spell and he would only end up looking like a pathetic flailing idiot, giving Potter all the more reason to mock at him. 

Using his wand, James turned the pages of the book slowly. 

“Why have you got all these pictures of Evans? Merlin, there are about a million in here. When did you take all these?” He paused as he saw a picture of Lily in her dorm, wearing in just her night-dress. “This one doesn’t even look like she…” he turned his attention to Severus, “Did she even know these were being taken?”

Severus blushed, but knew how to recover. “Of course she knew, you idiot, Potter. Look at those ones. Where she’s _looking at the camera_ and _smiling_. Hmm?”

“Shut it, Snivellus. Why have you got so many bloody pictures?”

“Because she’s my friend.”

“Oh cut the crap. That’s not why you took these. You’re obsessed with her. You even called it ‘The Lily Book’.”

“No I didn’t. It says ‘The Lily And Sev Book’. Can’t you read?”

“Well it’s bloody obvious that you just put that in there afterwards. Why did-” He paused again and stopped turning pages as he came to the picture of Lily and Severus together in the forest. Suddenly aware that they had both been yelling at each other he lowered his voice. 

“Ugh. God, Snape. Why did you have to go and ruin a perfectly good photo? You should have left it as just Evans. I mean, it’s weird to have so many pictures just of her, but at least she doesn’t hurt your eyes. What _is_ this? _‘Beautiful friends forever.’_ "He scoffed. "You’re such a bloody weirdo, Snivellus. You know that she doesn’t actually like you, right? She knows how weird you are. She tells all her friends – her _real_ friends – she tells them how much she hates you.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don’t know anything, Potter! You don’t know anything about it. You don’t know anything about _her_. You’re the one that’s obsessed with her. And you’re not even her friend. You’re obsessed with her.”

“Just ‘cause I’ve got the guts to ask her out doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with her. You’re such a hypocrite. You have a bloody _book_ about her!”

“I’m not obsessed with her, I love her!”

“You – what?” James stopped, utterly taken aback. “You _love_ her?”

Severus quickly tried to cover himself. “I love her…as my friend.”

“No…you said you loved her.”

In James’ moment of hesitation, Severus seized his chance.

“ _Confundo_!” he yelled grabbing the book. “And, er… _Obliviate_!” He shoved James out of the dormitory into the Slytherin Common Room, much to the confusion of James and all the Slytherins, none of whom had seen him enter. 

After that, Severus was more careful, both with where he hid the book and which picture he took. But he kept the camera in his pocket, always. Just in case…

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a camera to capture Lily whenever I can. It can capture the way Lily looks. It can capture what Lily does. The one thing it can’t quite capture – the one thing_ I _can’t quite capture – is Lily herself._


	8. Watch

**AN** – Yes, this chapter _is_ called ‘Watch’ and yes, it is Sirius’. I know it’s weird, but it’s not quite what you think so…er, just read it.

**Watch – Sirius Black**

The Gryffindor Common Room was a mess. 

Remus was sitting in an armchair, Sirius on the floor by his feet, his head resting on Remus’ knee. James was sprawled on an armchair, Peter lying face down on top of his legs. On the sofa, forming a gaggle of bodies with limbs splayed here and there, were Marlene Jackson, Alexa Carlson, Louise Goldsworthy, Jenifer Patterson and Lily Evans. There were empty Firewhisky and Butter Beer bottles littering the tables and floor and assorted rubbish everywhere. 

Of course, as was the increasingly common situation within Gryffindor house, all of the 6th years were highly inebriated. 

“Right!” said Sirius loudly, rousing everyone from the stupor they were all slowly slipping into. “Let’s play a game!”

Lily groaned. “ _Let’s play a game._ God, you’re such a child, Black.”

Sirius ignored her and stood up suddenly. He immediately clutched his head, eyes wide, blinking and swaying slightly. “Woah. Head rush.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Remus, holding his own head, “Thanks for that, Pads.”

Sirius ignored him as well, reached into his pocket and brought out a watch which he brandished triumphantly.

“Hah!”

“Ooh!” squealed Marlene, “I love this! Let’s play.” She heaved herself off of the sofa, pushing most of the others onto the floor causing more groans. 

She and Sirius drew their wands and quickly set about clearing the mess (well, moving it to the side of the room).

“So who’s playing?” asked Sirius.

“Sorry, what are we doing?” asked James, raising his head and looking around, bleary-eyed.

“We’re playing The Watch Of Destiny.”

“Oh my god, Vanessa. Haven’t seen her in ages.”

“So who’s playing?” asked Sirius, sitting cross-legged in the now-clear space, “Prongs?”

“Yeah, I’m in.” He got up and moved to the floor, forcing Peter to move as well. 

“Yeah, me too, Padfoot,” said Peter.

“Moony?” asked Sirius.

“Um, no. I think I’ll, just, er…not play.”

“You are such a woman. Right, Jackson, you’re in. Carlson, Goldsworthy? Patterson? You guys playing?”

They all shrugged and moved to join the other on the floor, forming a circle, into the middle of which Sirius had just put the watch.

Lily was still sitting on the sofa. 

James turned to her. “Evans? Are you gonna play?”

“Er…I don’t know how to.”

“Oh, I forgot,” said Sirius, “Little Evans doesn’t play games. She’s far to sophisticated and-”

“Oh, leave her alone,” said Marlene, trying to punch him, but instead hitting one of the sofas. “She just doesn’t know how to play. Muggle born remember.”

Lily slid down into the circle as James began to explain it to her.

“Well, you use the watch, and she tells you what to do. It’s either a truth, a dare or a snog. And that means a proper one, no peck-on-the-cheek crap. She gets really mad if you don’t do it properly. Oh – and you can’t use magic. Everything has to be one hundred per cent non magical. Apart from Vanessa, obviously.”

“Ok…but, er, why do you keep calling the watch a she. And who’s Vanessa?”

“Vanessa _is_ the watch.”

“Right…”

Sirius took out his wand and touched the tip to the face of the watch. The tiny round screen blurred and it began to swirl a silvery colour. Then, a small silver figure rose up out of the watch and stood on it’s face. It was like a little patronus, except Lily knew that it couldn’t be because a patronus was always an animal. This was an incredibly beautiful witch with long hair and large round eyes. She looked like a Veela. 

“Hi Sirius,” the figure purred. She tilted her chin down and looked up at him sexily.

“Hey Vanessa. How you doing?” he said, his voice low and husky.

“All the better for seeing you,” she looked at James. “Hi James.”

“Hiya, gorgeous.” 

_Are they actually flirting with a patronus?_ thought Lily, _This is a new low – even for Black and Potter._

“So who else is playing tonight, boys?” she said, twirling around to look at the entire circle. “Hi Peter. Remus, you aren’t playing? Aw, that’s sad,” she said, noticing Remus sitting pointedly on the chair. She seemed to get over it quickly though and started going round the circle, naming and greeting the girls in a slightly less friendly way. She stopped when she got to Lily. 

“Who’s that?” she asked Sirius.

“Relax, Vanessa,” said James. He knew that she got jealous of beautiful girls. The other Gryffindors were pretty, but Lily was beautiful. “That’s Lily Evans. It’s her first time, so be nice.” 

“Fine. Let’s play” said Vanessa. Her tiny body levitated above the screen and began to spin. She span faster and faster until her body became a blur. She stopped suddenly, looking right at Sirius. 

He grinned. 

“You’re first,” she said. 

“So what am I doing Ness?”

“Dare. You have to hang a pair of your boxers from Gryffindor tower.”

The others laughed. Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Easy. No problem. I’ll just get my broom and-”

“Oh! Didn’t I say? You can’t use your broom.” She smiled sweetly. 

She blew him a kiss as he left the room.

The other staggered to the window and hung out of the window, trying to look up. 

“Hey! I can see him!” called James. “OY! PADS! DOWN HERE.”

Sirius, clinging to the roof of the tower held on with one hand and leaned out and looked down. There was a pair of underpants in his mouth.

Once his boxers were proudly waving from a hastily erected flag pole, he rejoined the group looking thoroughly windswept. “See. Easy.”

They played for an hour or so. Amongst various dares, truths and snogs, Peter had to go to McGonagall’s office and proclaim his undying love for her. James kissed all of the girls as well as sharing a rather passionate kiss with Sirius. And, it turned out Marlene Jackson had done more with a boy than they had all thought. 

After a while, Lily relaxed, despite Vanessa’s hostility, and she even found herself enjoying it. 

Until it was her turn. 

Vanessa stopped her spin and stared coldly at Lily.

“Kiss. And not just a kiss. I know what girls like you are like. A proper snog. I want to see all of it – open mouths, tongues, hands in hair, at least a minute long.”

“Ok. Bring it on,” said Lily, trying to be as cocky as possible.

“Sirius.”

Lily gaped.

James choked on his Firewhisky.

Sirius made an odd noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” he said.

“You heard me. You. Evans. Snog. Now.”

James cut in. “He can’t kiss Lily!”

“Yeah, I completely agree,” said Lily, nodding furiously.

“Me too,” said Sirius, no less earnest.

“You know the rules. Lily, it’s your snog. You have to do it. Sirius, if you don’t let her, both of you’ll be punished. James – grow up.”

Sirius groaned and stood up. “Come on then, Evans. Let’s get this over with.”

Lily sighed and joined him standing in the middle of the circle. 

Sirius looked over his shoulder at James. “Sorry mate,” he mouthed.

Lily kissed him. He opened his mouth and she followed. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and hers into his. His hands were planted firmly on her waist as her own ones were buried in his hair.

_God,_ thought Lily, _I cannot_ believe _I’m kissing Sirius Black. This is such an idiotic game. I bet she’s really enjoying this,_ “Vanessa” _. Making me and Sirius do this. Making James watch. Ugh. But at least Black’s a good kisser…_

_Actually,_ thought Sirius, _Evans isn’t that bad a kisser. She’s quite good. But she’s…_ Evans. _Ugh. And poor Prongs…_

After exactly a minute, James made a bizarre sort of noise and yelled “Minute up! You can stop now.”

They pulled apart unceremoniously. Sirius glared at Vanessa before picking up the watch causing her to vanish into it, and shoving it into his pocket.

There was an unbearably awkward silence. James alternated between glaring at Lily and Sirius. Peter looked warily at James. Sirius rubbed angrily at a non-existent stain on his shirt. Lily looked around. Everyone else shifted and fidgeted. 

“See!” said Remus, from the sofa, “This is why I don’t play this game! It’s the same every bloody time. Sirius gets told to do pointlessly dangerous stuff. James gets told to snog everyone apart from the one person he wants to – never mind. Peter just has to do idiotic things that get him in trouble. And whenever I play it, I always have to kiss James and Sirius, because for some reason, bloody Vanessa thinks I’m gay, and it turns her on or something.”

There was an awful pause, but then Marlene laughed followed by Lily and Sirius and everyone else. Apart from James.

The laughter stopped when James said suddenly, “I’m going to bed. ‘Night Marlene, Alexa, Jen, Louise. ‘Night Evans. ‘Night Moony. ‘Night Wormtail.” 

He turned to go to the dormitory but Sirius called after him. “What about me? Don’t I get a goodnight?”

“No, _Sirius_. You don’t.” 

“Why not? It’s just a game, Prongs! It doesn’t mean anything! None of it does. You know it doesn’t.”

There was a pause.

Then, James seemed choked up as he said, “Well, actually I thought that _our_ kiss meant something rather special to me and it hurts me that you would think otherwise.” James huffed. “But now I know that our love means nothing to you! So _good_ night Mr Black.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Sirius said as James went upstairs. “’Night Prongs.”

Of course, James laughed it off and so did Sirius. 

But – of course – it had affected James more than he had let on, but he was too embarrassed to tell Sirius, so he acted like he didn’t care.

And – of course – Sirius knew that it had upset James, but, being as loyal as he was, he understood his friend and he acted like he just didn’t remember.

But, for a long while, until the eventful day that Lily Evans said “yes”, there was something unsaid that stuck between the two boys. 

Which was why Sirius soon “lost” Vanessa: because looking at the watch made James feel sick and made Sirius feel like he had betrayed his best friend.

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s Vanessa, the little bitch that she is. To be honest, she really is just a watch. But she reminds me of something I wish had never happened and something that was wrong and something I want to forget. I think she might get lost soon…_

**AN –** and that is as far as I will ever go with any sort of Lily/Sirius ship. Because _Sirius just wouldn’t do that!_ Sorry to all you die-hard LE/SB shippers out there. It’s just what I think. (And, btw, doesn’t seeing “LE/SB” make you think “LESBIAN”. Or maybe that’s just me.)

~Bella~ 


	9. Ring

**AN** \- Ok, so I've got quite a lot of ideas for chapters, but I haven't written/finished writing lots of them yet. I've been updating regularly quite recently, but I might have to slow down a bit now (sorry!) so that I don't just run out of ideas. 

Thank you so much to those of you who keep on reviewing. It is much appreciated.

**Ring – Frank Longbottom  
**

As he fingered the ring in his pocket, Frank Longbottom worried that Alice wouldn’t believe him. 

He worried that she wouldn’t believe he was doing it for the right reasons.

He worried that she wouldn’t believe he had thought this through.

He worried that she wouldn’t believe that he loved her quite _enough_ for this.

He gripped the ring tightly in his hand as a look of determination clouded his face.

Yes, he _was_ doing this for the right reasons – he loved her more than anything and he wanted to have a family with her and grow old and grey with her. (It wasn’t just because of the news that she was pregnant.)

Yes he _had_ thought it through – he knew it would be an expensive wedding and a big commitment, but he was ready. (Even though they were living in a tiny one-bedroom flat and their combined age was 41.)

And, yes, he _did_ love her enough for marriage – his love for Alice was the only thing he had ever experienced in life that had been so strong, so stable.

Frank was suddenly dragged from his thoughts as Remus clapped a hand on his back. 

“Frank? Are you ok? You seem to be trying to dismember something in your pocket and you look slightly ill-”

“You’re being bloody weird,” said Sirius, bluntly. 

Frank looked around at the four Marauders. They were in Arthur and Molly Weasley’s house, having just finished an Order meeting. 

“Oh, me? I just, er…”

A look of realisation dawned across James’ face. “He’s going to ask Alice to marry him.”

“What? How did you know that-” But Frank couldn’t finish asking James how he knew because Remus was – somewhat bizarrely – shaking his hand and Sirius was whacking him repeatedly on the back as Peter beamed at him. 

“Congratulations, mate!” yelled Sirius.

“Yeah, congratulations!” echoed Peter.

Frank shrugged. “She hasn’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

“Course she’ll say yes,” said Remus, then added, with unreassuring uncertainly, "Won't she?"

“I don’t know. I think she’ll think we’re rushing into it. Doing it for the wrong reasons and stuff.”

“What ‘wrong reasons’? You love her and she loves you. Simple, right?” said Sirius, oblivious to any sort of possible complexity.

“We’re so young,” pleaded Frank, “I mean, I’m twenty-one and Alice is only twenty. And it’s dangerous, you know. Both of us being Aurors, it makes us more of a…target.”

“But you’d be a target anyway,” said James, suspiciously. “Why are you so sure she’ll say no?”

“I’m not _sure_ she she’ll say no. I’m just _not sure_ that she’ll say yes. I don’t think she believes that we’re ready.” Frank looked at his hands as he mumbled, “And I think she’ll think I’m only asking her because…because she’s pregnant.” 

“Alice is pregnant?” asked James, shocked.

Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell, mate,” said Sirius, shaking his head.

Remus looked at the three boys, utterly bewildered. “I think – correct me if I’m wrong – but I _think_ the more common phrase is ‘Congratulations’. Ring _any_ bells whatsoever?”

There is a mumble of “Oh, yeah, congratulations” from the other three.

“So, er, what d’you think?” asked James.

“I dunno,” replied Frank, genuinely, “I mean, I love Alice more than anything and I really do _want_ to get married and have kids but, I just don’t know if it’s the right time. You-Know-Who’s coming up to power and it just doesn’t seem like the right time to get married and raise a child, you know?”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “I know. But do you really think there’ll ever be a _right_ time?”

Frank looked lost.

“Think about it. You-Know-Who’s on the rise so it’s dangerous, but it’s gonna be like that for a long time. If you love Alice, then you have to get married. Not just because of the baby, but because you love her and marriage’ll make that last. And having a baby, well, the way I see it, it’s like the one good thing that can still happen. If you have a kid, yeah it’ll grow up in a difficult time, but you’ll manage. And then that kid will have been with you to go through everything that you’ll have been through. It’ll know what it’s like, it’ll understand everything. And then when it grows up, it can fight You-Know-Who as well. You can’t let what’s happening now, the war – you can’t let _him_ be the reason for you not to live your life like you want to. You’ve got to keep on living." He looked at the others. "We’ve _all_ got to keep on living. It’s the only thing we can do.”

There was a pause before Remus said, “Well. That was actually, rather profound, James.”

James shrugged. 

“So you’re gonna do it, then?” asked Peter.

Frank exhaled deeply and nodded. 

“Crickey. Good luck, mate,” said Sirius. “Now who wants a beer?”

Remus and Peter both raised their hands as Sirius stood up.

“Well _I’m_ not going to get it for you, you lazy sods. Get it yourself.” Sirius said incredulously.

Remus and Peter both sighed before following him into the kitchen.

“Thanks, James,” said Frank.

“S’alright.”

“Erm, about before…how did you know that…”

“That you were going to propose and that you were feeling bloody nervous about it?”

Frank nodded.

“Because I’ve been doing the exact same thing for the past two weeks.”

Frank laughed, not because it was funny, but because he was suddenly filled with confidence. Feeling nervous about proposing was normal. James Potter had been feeling nervous for two weeks, and he hadn’t even asked her yet.

That evening, Frank Longbottom asked Alice Henries to marry him.

He told her that he was ready, he had thought it through, they were young but they’d manage, he wanted to have a family with her, he wanted to get old with her and he told her that he loved her more than enough for anything.

And she believed him. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a ring for Alice, my whole world. Because we’re going to get married and start a family together, me and Alice and our little baby. Because that’s what we have to do. We just have to keep on living._   


**AN -** I would like to dedicate this chapter to my father (the Frank Longbottom of this story - a wonderful man who lost his beautiful wife but had to keep on living) and to me (the Neville of this story - because when I lost my beautiful mother, she took with her a part of my wonderful father). Sorry to be such a sap.

I love you Dad.

~Bella~


	10. Lists

 

**AN** – I don’t really like this chapter much, and I don’t whether it being purely dialogue is annoying. But, much as I loved DH, I hated (and I mean _hated_ ) the epilogue and the names of Harry and Ginny’s kids. So I figured I’d write this to…make the whole thing somewhat less fanfiction-y (or at least to make it how I want it in my mind). Anyway, **reviews** make me smile. 

**Lists – Ginny Weasley**

“Harry, are you _sure_ you don’t want to know the sex of the baby?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

“But why? It’s such a quick charm, it’ll take me-”

“I just want it to be a surprise, ok?”

“You’re so weird Potter.”

“So are you, _Mrs Potter_.”

“…”

“…”

“But now we have to choose _two_ names. Boy and girl.”

“Doesn’t matter! We can do it now. Boy’s names first.”

“…”

“What? Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because I know _exactly_ what names you’re thinking of.”

“No you don’t, how can you _know_.”

“Because I know you.” 

“Ok – prove it. I’ll think of three…no, four names. I’ll write down the names on my piece of paper and you write down what you ‘ _know_ ’ on yours.”

“What pieces of paper?”

“ _Accio_ paper. See, always one step ahead, me.”

“I know, my darling. That’s why I married you.”

“Stop flirting with me, Ginerva and write down those names. If you get them all right, then…er…you get to pick the name! That’s how confident I am. And don’t you even _think_ about using Legilimency on me. I may be a crap Occlumens but I can at least tell when someone’s trying to read my mind, so don’t go there.”

“Oh, I don’t need magic, Harry. I know things…”

_Scribbling_.

“I’m done.”

“What? Already? How can you possibly know what I’m going to write when I haven’t written it yet?”

“Just you wait.”

_Pause._

“Ok. Done. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

_He picks up her paper and reads:_

**_In order…_ **

**_James,_** ** _Sirius,_** ** _Albus,_** ** _Severus, Remus_** ** _(because you said four names but I know you can’t even stick to your own rules)_**

“How did you-? What?” 

_She picks up his paper and reads:_

**_James_ **

**_Sirius_ **

**_Albus_ **

**_Severus_ **

**_Remus: as an extra middle name or something_ **

“You are _so_ predictable.”

_Huffs_. “So what do you want to call our son then? It’s your choice now.”

“I like James Sirius. Sounds good.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t have a go at me! _You_ put the names down yourself!”

“Yeah, I know _I_ did. But that’s ‘cause they’re from my side of the family. Don’t you want a name from your side?”

“Oh good god, Harry. Are you kidding? Have you ever heard our names? Arthur. Bill. Percy. Fred. Ronald. _Ginerva_. I mean, I love my parents and everything, but their taste in baby names is…it’s…well it’s crap.”

_Laughs_. “But, are you sure? I mean, isn’t there a name you just…like?”

“No, not especially. I like James. And Sirius. Oh – and I think maybe we should call him James Sirius _Remus_ Potter.”

“Oh sure. Why don’t we throw in Peter as well?”

“…”

“Ow! That hurt.”

“No, I just mean that we should remember Remus as well. Just because he lived longer than them doesn’t mean he wasn’t their best friend too. And Teddy would be pleased.”

“I know, I know. You’re right. I like it. _James Sirius Remus Potter._ I guess we know he’ll be a right little terrorist. ”

“…”

“So what about girls’ names?” 

“Ok. What do you-?”

“Ooh! I know – Molly.”

“What? No.”

“Why not? We should have _someone_ from your side of the family. And you and your mum are really close. She’d love it. And I like the name Molly. It’s…nice.”

“Yeah, but we’re clearly going to call her Lily, aren’t we?”

“Well…I mean, we don’t _have_ to…”

“Come on, Harry! I know you want to. You don’t have to say it just for me. And anyway, _I_ want to call her Lily. It’s a nice name. And she’ll probably look a bit like your mum did too.”

“Ok…but what about her middle name? _That_ can be Molly.”

“ _Lily Molly._ Are you serious? _Lily Molly_?”

“Oh. I didn’t realise how…”

“Idiotic it would sound?”

“Yes.”

“I prefer the name Lily to Molly. And anyway, I find it weird to name a kid after someone who’s still alive. It feels kind of…wrong, I guess. I don’t know why.”

“…”

“…”“You know that now all of our kids will be named after people who Died For The Cause?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“…””…”“Ginny?”

“Mm?”

“You know our kids…?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, what are we going to tell them about, you know, everything?”

“…”

“About Voldemort and the war and the horcruxes and the diary and what it did to you. And everyone who died. My parents, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Sirius. What are we gonna tell them about me and about…our life before Voldemort died?”

“The truth.”

“The truth?”

“Yes. We’ll tell them everything. They shouldn’t need to be protected from something that happened before they were born. It’s history now. And it’s _our_ history, so they should know about it.”

“You’re right.”

“I always am.”

“I know.”

“…”

“…”

“So does that mean you’ll let me find out what gender our baby is?”

“ _Ginny_!”

“…”

“…”

_She picks up both pieces of paper and puts them in her pocket._

“What are you keeping those for? I’m pretty sure that between us we’ll be able to remember the names we chose for our children…”

“…”

“Ow! Why are you so violent? I think it’s because of your hair, you know. I read somewhere that red hair-”

“…”

“OW!”

“…”

“I think you have rage issues.”

“No I do not. And anyway, that’s not why I’m keeping the lists. I’m keeping them as a reminder.”

“A reminder of what? How violent and abusive you are to your husband?”

“No! As a reminder to you.”

“To remind me of what? The bruises?”

“To remind you that I’m always right.”

“Oh.”

“…”

“So you’re going to carry on being violent towards me then? Because that doesn’t bode well for a healthy relationship and the prevalence of female initiated domestic abuse is severely underestimated-”

“…”

“Ok, ok, ok. You are a lovely, kind, gentle, caring wife and I like your hair.”

“Good.”

“Even if it does remind me of tomato ketchup.”

 “…”

“Ah! Don’t do that! Ginny, stop! I saved the world remember!”

“Fine. It was too easy anyway.”

“Thank you. And anyway, I don’t need pieces of paper to remind me that you’re always right. I’ve got you haven’t I?” 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s those lists, a reminder to Harry that I’m always right. No, not really, that was a joke. It’s a reminder that I know Harry better than anyone, and I understand him better than himself._

**AN -** Sorry for re-posting this like 10 times. I had some issues with my formatting...


	11. Raisins

 

**SORRY for reposting this! As usual, I had some formatting issues**

**AN – the more I think about it, the more I realise that I really didn’t like the last chapter. I’m not sure if I like this one either. It’s pretty short though, so it’s not that bad.** **Next chapter will be L/J related though…**

**~**

**Raisins – Naricssa Black**

She would always remember the way he had proposed.

_“So I suppose we ought to get married, Cissy.”_

So cold, so uncaring, so clinical. So Lucius. 

And she would always remember her response.

_“Yes. I suppose we ought to.”_

They had gotten married the following winter.

Thinking about it now, it shocked her to think that this was the man she had once loved. 

It wasn’t that she loved him in a heart-stopping, take-your-breath-away, I’ll-love-you-forever-and-a-day way. But there were things she had loved about him. She had loved his charismatic charm. She had loved his cool good looks. She had loved his utter calm. And she had loved that his blood was as pure as hers. 

And she supposed that he had loved her to. He had loved her beauty, her long blonde hair, her pale blue eyes. He had loved the fact that, in his own words, “she was as good a match for him as there would ever be”. He had loved she would give him pure-blood sons, as pale and blonde as they were. And of course, he had loved her blood, pure as he could want. 

Her family had approved. Her parents were ecstatic that their beautiful daughter was to marry a pure-blood, hopefully restoring them to favour following Andromeda’s highly public shaming of the family. When she had told Bellatrix, her sister had pinched her face in that look she always made and said, “Really? You’re going to marry Lucius? But he’s so… _dull_. I mean, there’s nothing to him. But I guess he’s pure-blood. Hm. Well, congratulations, I suppose, Ciss.” 

After the wedding, as perfectly as Narcissa could have predicted, their relationship became a non-relationship. She thought of it more as a mutually beneficial allegiance between two pure-bloods. The space between them grew larger and larger as they began to drift silently around the house like two strangers. 

And then Draco was born. And suddenly there was something else, a light to Naricssa’s life which made everything worthwhile. Draco’s birth didn’t make them a perfectly close-knit family, but it lessened the distance between them and it meant that the house was once again filled with noise. Draco was the one thing that united her to her husband. Together they would feed him raisins from little packets which she seemed to love so much, they would sing him songs and tell him stories of happy pure blood families who fought and defeated the Muggle-borns and Mudbloods. 

But of course, Draco eventually left for Hogwarts and the house was once again silent and spacious and empty. 

One day, after a typically silent dinner, Narcissa stood up to clear their plates. As she bent down to pick something from the floor, something slipped from her pocket. She stood up and Lucius stared down at the raisins lying on the floor.

“What are those?”

“They’re raisins, Lucius.”

There was a pause as Narcissa searched Lucius’ eyes, willing him to remember what she remembered: a time when they were happy (or at least as happy as they could be together). 

“Why are they in your pocket?” he asked, partly confused, partly condescending. And within a moment, Narcissa realised that the one thing she had been clinging on to (the hope that she and Lucius had something, anything which they could share a love of, even if it wasn’t each other) was false.

“I…I’m on a diet.”

Lucius looked her up and down slowly, before nodding and murmuring “Mm hmm.” 

And suddenly Narcissa felt utterly alone. It wasn’t just the fact that he didn’t say “You don’t need to diet” or “You’re beautiful”, but simply “Mm hmm”. It wasn’t just that she realised he no longer remembered the time when they were happy together. It wasn’t just about the ever-present spaces and silences.

It was that she knew that her husband (and it almost pained her to call him that) was as far as possible away from her, from remembering her, from loving her. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. They’re raisins, not because I’m on a diet, but because they remind me of Draco and of a time when Lucius and I were together and more-or-less happy. And because Lucius won’t, I’ll have to remember for both of us._

 


	12. Hole

  
**AN – I am a firm believer that there was a period when Lily and James were _friends_ before they got together. I don’t really believe in the whole they-hated-each-other-for-years-but-then-one-random-day-they-just-got-off-with-each-other-and-had-wild-animal-sex-and-then-fell-madly-in-love-for-the-rest-of-their-lives thing. (I know it’s not always like that, I’m just kidding. I’ve read great stories when there’s no in-between friend stage.) Anyway, that’s when this is taking place and that was basically the point of that whole long winded spiel. So – enjoy! And review!  
**

**Hole – James Potter**

Lily loves eggs. Scrambled, boiled, fried. She _loves_ eggs. 

Which is why the section of the Gryffindor table reserved for 7th years is silent. Because everyone knows how partial Lily is to her eggs and they know to leave her in peace during breakfast so that she can have her “weird egg-y orgasmic bliss in silence” (as Sirius tells constantly informs everyone).

So Lily feels bloody irritated when James Potter comes to sit opposite her at breakfast just when she is enjoying her scrambled eggs on toast. Technically, he is allowed to sit there (he _is_ in Gryffindor House, after all). Technically, he probably _should_ sit there (Sirius, Remus, Peter and Lily, all of whom are his friends, are sitting there). And technically, it’s up to him where he sits (he wants to, it’s a free country and all that).

But that’s just _technically_. And Lily knows that James will either talk to her or stare at her, both of which are distraction from her “weird egg-y orgasmic bliss”, which she is actually rather fond of. 

“Hi Lily,” he says, dropping into the seat.

Mouth full of egg, she just grunts at him.

“Don’t we get a hello?” says Sirius in outrage, “Your _best friends._ Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail? Remember us? Or do you only have time for egg-girl now?”

James shrugs. “Hey, Lily, d’you remember in third year?”

“James, third year was a long year. Lots of things happened. And to be honest, I’d rather eat my egg than discuss _third year_ ,” she says and returns to her breakfast.

“No, just listen. D’you remember in third year when you told me I didn’t understand Muggles?”

She grunts again and continues eating.

“And you said that even though I never call people Mudblood it didn’t matter ‘cause I didn’t treat Muggles the same as Wizards?”

Lily sighs loudly and her fork clatters onto the table. “Ok, you’ve put me off my egg now. Thanks for that.” She smiles dryly at him. “Yes, I remember.”

“And you said that Muggles were people just the same as Wizards and they deserved the same amount of respect?”

“Yes – James are you actually going anywhere with this because-”

“And you said that I couldn’t possibly understand _you_ because I didn’t understand Muggles and I didn’t understand what it was to grow up as a Muggle and live in a Muggle house and have Muggle food and Muggle bedtime stories and Muggle nursery rhymes?”

“James, this happened in third year. That’s _four years ago_. Why are you even-”

“And you said that I was an arrogant little pig but it didn’t matter ‘cause Muggle nursery rhymes were better than Wizard ones anyway?”

Lily suppressed a giggle. James smiled. Remus rolled his eyes. 

Sirius said, “You’re bloody weird, you know that, Prongs?”

“Yes, I remember,” said Lily.

“Well, I reckon that you were wrong about me not understanding and being an arrogant little pig, but you were right about Muggles and you were right about the nursery rhymes.”

“ _I was right about the nursery r-_? James, what are you on about? And how would you know anyway?”

“I looked up the Muggle nursery rhymes.”

“What?”

“I went to a Muggle shop and bought a book of Muggle nursery rhymes. And they were good and I learnt them.”

“Oh good god. James, you’re seventeen years old and you’re Head Boy and you spend your time reading nursery rhymes.”

“ _Muggle_ nursery rhymes,” he corrected. “And not reading them. _Learning_ them.”

“So you learnt nursery rhymes?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” she said sarcastically.

“I did!”

“No you didn’t. The great James Potter would _not_ learnt nursery rhymes.”

“Yes I would! And I did.”

“In Merlin’s name why?”

“To show you that I _do_ understand and I _do_ care. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you don’t believe I learnt them. I can _prove_ it.”

Lily smiles. She knows it’s stupid but this is exactly what she likes about James. Despite being seventeen and having the capacity to behave maturely when called for, he is able to behave like an eleven year old boy and have fun, and more than that, he can get Lily to join him. He’s the only person she knows who can make her feel so relaxed and open. There is something so special about both him and Sirius, something so free, so innocent, like a bird refusing to be caged.  

Grinning, she begins. “Right, James Potter. You’re on. Twinkle, twinkle little star-”

“How I wonder what you are. Come on, Lily! At least make it a _bit_ difficult.”

“Just getting you warmed up. Ring a ring a roses a pocket-”

“A pocketful of posies. Atishoo, atishoo, they all fall down.”

“Ok…er. Jack and Jill-”

“Went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. You’re just _too easy_ , Evans!”

“Hey diddle, diddle. The cat and the fiddle-”

“Oh! The, er…oh…the _cow_! The cow jumped over the moon. Hah!”

“You’re good, Potter.”

There is a pause as she tries to think of another one. Suddenly she smiles, and begins singing sweetly.

“There’s a hole in my pocket, dear James, dear James. There’s a hole in my pocket, dear James, a hole.”

Lily knows that technically she has changed the words from ‘bucket’ to ‘pocket’, but technically James Potter had interrupted her breakfast so she felt she deserved that right. James is however, unfazed.

“Then fix it, dear Lily, dear Lily, dear Lily. Then fix it dear Lily, dear Lily, fix it.”

“With what shall I fix it, dear James, dear James? With what shall I fix it, dear James, with what?”

“With a, er…with a _stitch_! dear Lily, dear Lily, dear Lily. With a stitch, dear Lily, dear Lily, a stitch.”

“With what shall I stitch it, dear James, dear James? With what shall I stitch it, dear James, with what?”

“Er…with a needle and thread, dear Lily, dear Lily. With a needle and thread, dear Lily, that’s what.”

Lily smiles coyly. “But I don’t have a needle, dear James, dear James. But I don’t have a needle, dear James, I don’t.”

James grins uncertainly. _Is she_ flirting _with me?_ He’d soon find out.

“You can use my needle, dear Lily, my needle. You can use my needle, dear Lily, you can.”

Lily smiles and blushes slightly despite herself. “But how shall I thread it, dear James, dear James? Oh how shall I thread it, dear James, oh how?”

James grins his lopsided grin. “I’ll thread your needle, dear Lily, dear Lily. I’ll thread your needle, dear Lily, I will.”

Remus splutters coffee all over the table and Sirius chokes on his sausage. 

But what surprises them even more is Lily’s reaction to and participation in his blatantly obvious sexual innuendoes. 

“Why thank you, dear James, dear James, dear James. Why thank you, dear James, dear James, thank you.”

The two of them grin at each other as Sirius and Remus just stare at them, utterly horrified. Peter happily munches on his toast, utterly oblivious.

Lily feels as sudden wave of nostalgia wash over her as she remembers her father singing this with her when she was little.

“See. There you go. I’m right. Again,” says James. He suddenly seems to realise something. “Hey, you know what’s weird? I’ve actually _got_ a hole in my pocket. Seriously. I’ve got a hole in my right pocket!”

“Mm,” mumbles Lily, completely absorbed in her own thoughts, not really listening at all.

“Must be fate,” says James. 

Although when Lily replies her voice is absent, her eyes are unfocussed and she’s clearly not concentrating, James will never let her forget it.

“Yeah, must be.”

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a hole. There’s a_ hole _in my_ pocket _. So ‘hah!’ Lily Evans._  



	13. Radish

  
**AN – I have always hated Luna/Neville (it’s such a cliché!) but for some reason I find the idea of Luna/Dean strangely appealing. I guess for me it’s one of those opposites-attract things. They’re both so different in terms of looks and personalities, but I reckon that their core values – the things that** _really_ matter – are pretty much the same (and I don’t just mean hating Voldemort, loving Harry etc. etc. etc. but all of the important things). But, having said that, re-reading this chapter I find it incredibly clichéd. Anyway – enough explanation. As always, reviews are love.  
**~**  
**Radish – Dean Thomas**   


Dean has always known that there is something… _untrue_ about his relationship with Ginny. He likes her a lot and he knows she feels the same, but there’s something about it which he can’t quite seem to explain. 

It’s the way that, when they kiss, it’s like they’re both searching vainly for something else.

It’s the way that, when Ginny’s talks to, or even about, Harry her face lights up. 

It’s the way that, when they’re together, there’s something missing.

But more than anything else, it’s the way that he can’t seem to stop thinking about the slightly odd Ravenclaw girl with dirty blond hair and a dreamy expression. 

One day, he’s sitting in History of Magic and his mind drifts to Luna. He imagines her in her bizarre Gryffindor hat with the incredibly life-like lion on top of it, made all the more bizarre by the fact that she’s not even in Gryffindor. 

Seamus suddenly elbows him. “What in the name of arse is so funny?” 

“Er…nothing,” says Dean. 

“Then why the bloody hell are you grinnin’ like an eejit?” 

A few days later he is hurrying down the second floor corridor, running late for a lesson with McGonagall when he sees Luna. 

She is standing stooped over at the end of the corridor, her books dropped in a pile by her feet, intently examining some spot on the floor. Dean hesitates, but eventually rushes past the door to the Transfiguration classroom and down to stand next to Luna. 

“Er…hi.”

“Oh, hello, Dean,” she says, not looking at him.

“What are you looking at?” 

“A blibbering humdinger,” she says, pointing at the floor. 

Dean laughs, but Luna turns to him utterly straight-faced. “You probably don’t believe in them, but I’m sure that that’s one. Right there.” 

Dean says genuinely, “And I’m sure you’re right.” He smiles at her. 

It’s then that Dean realises just how much he smiles when he thinks of Luna. 

He smiles when he thinks of the way she tucks her wand behind her ear “just for safekeeping”. 

He smiles when he thinks of her too-loud cackling laugh. 

He smiles when he thinks of her butter beer cork necklace and radish earrings.

He smiles when he thinks of the way that people calling her “Loony” just passes her by, where it bothers him so much. 

And that’s what it is. 

_That’s what love is_ , Dean thinks. 

It’s looking at the little quirks in someone and smiling at them. 

It’s loving someone for all of the things which mean nothing, but mean everything. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a radish earring. It makes me smile._  


	14. Stain

 

**AN** – I’ve given up with apologies. There are too many and they don’t work. 

But yes – I _am_ sorry it has taken so long for an update. 

(Oh and by the way – yes, this is in present tense because I miss them a little too much.)

**Stain – Nymphadora Tonks**   


Remus lies in bed, bare-chested, sheets around his waist as he stares up at the ceiling. Tonks lies on her side next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, her arm trailed across his chest. She absent-mindedly swirls patterns on his stomach with her fingertip.

“Tell me a secret, Remus,” she says suddenly.

Remus is not surprised: he is used to her gloriously unexpected outbursts.

“What kind of secret?” he says. 

“Oh, silly me,” she giggles, “I’d forgotten your need to turn everything into a ‘Big Important Life Question’. Just a secret, Remus. Anything.”

After a while he says, “Merlin, this is so stupid but…when I was about seven I had this friend called Dave. One day I went over to his house and his mum made us bread and butter pudding. I thought it was the most delicious thing I had eaten in my entire life. Anyway, I thought it was the same as _rice_ pudding. So I kept going on at my mum about how mum I loved _rice_ pudding. I made her feel really bad shit about it too. I kept on going on about how ‘ _Dave’s mum_ makes the most amazing rice pudding’, ‘ _Dave’s mum_ says it’s really good for you’, ‘ _Dave’s mum_ is the best cook I know’.”

Tonks giggles Just imagining Remus as a young child makes her smile: he was so _old_. 

He continues. “So one day she made me rice pudding to eat after school. It was…it was just…I can’t _tell_ you how disgusting it was. You know how much I hate rice pudding right? But I ate it anyway. And I felt really bad about the whole thing, so I told her I loved it. So then after that she made me rice pudding every Friday after school. I used to stuff it in my mouth and then run to the toilet and spit it out. I never told her how much I hated it. Even now when I go and visit her she always makes me rice pudding: ‘I know how much you love it, Remus dear’.”

Tonks laughed. 

“You tell me a secret now.”

After a pause she began to giggle to her. 

“What?”

“Mine’s about your mum too. Ok. So, remember that time we went over to your parents’ house for Sunday lunch, so I could meet them?”

“Yes…”

“Well your mum cooked this amazing meal with all the bits. Roast lamb, potatoes–” 

“You know I was there, right, Dora?” 

She slapped him. “Let me tell my story wolf-man.” 

“Oh, wolf-man. You must be serious. I’ll be quiet.” 

“Good. Now where was I? Oh yeah – so she cooked this amazing meal with lamb, potatoes, gravy, _cranberries_ , everything. But I _hate_ cranberries. I mean _hate_ hate them. I just can’t eat them! Anyway, it was the first time I was meeting your folks and I really wanted to make a good first impression. And I didn’t want to say I didn’t like cranberries in case your mum got offended or thought I was fussy or something. I know, I know, it’s stupid. But anyway…Oh! I forgot to say – I was wearing that white skirt. You know that long-ish, fancy one? Yeah, so I knew I couldn’t eat the cranberries, so when you all weren’t looking I put them in my pocket. I meant to go to the loo and get rid of them but I guess I forgot. So – hey, don’t laugh at me! So I only remembered the damn things when I got home. I chucked them away, but there was a stain in my pocket where they’d been. I never was that good at domestic charms so I couldn’t get rid of it. I’ve still got that bloody skirt with the stain in it.

Remus laughs his slow deep laugh and Tonks can feel it reverberate through his body. 

“I can try and get it out for you. My mum taught me–”

“No,” she says quickly, then blushes slightly. “I mean, you don’t have to worry about it. It’s not like anyone ever sees the inside of my pocket anyway.” 

“It’s ok,” he persists, “It’s nothing, honest. They’re really easy once you know how.” 

She sighs and then says happily, “Oh, Remus. You don’t get it do you?” 

He looks confused, for once. 

“I _like_ having that stain in there,” she says, “It’s stupid, I know. It reminds me of you, your parents, that day. When I wear that skirt it reminds me of you and how bloody _nervous_ I was that day.” 

Remus grins. 

“I love you,” she says, in her ever-honest, ever-open, ever-trusting way. 

“I love you, too,” he breathes, before rolling her onto her side and kissing her. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. It’s a cranberry stain. Isn’t it funny how a stain of something I hate so much can remind me of someone I love more than anything?_   


 


	15. Blood

**AN** – I know, it’s been about a year since an update and I am profusely sorry. Really. And I can’t even promise that the next update will be soon. And this update is _odd_ to say the very least. Seriously. 

I t’s Bellatrix when she’s like eight or nine. I think that when I was writing, she just got more and more demented. It makes sense to me but probably seems stupid to you. Also, I hope the flitting from present to past isn't too disorientating. 

Gosh, I feel weird. Anyway, thank you for reading, hope it’s ok, sorry for the delay and please leave a review.

~Bella~ (Oh, and by the way, this is my actual name. My name isn’t based on this character. At all. Please believe that if nothing else!)

****

 

**Blood** – **Bellatrix Black**

Bellatrix Black sits cross-legged in front of a mirror. 

Blood trickles onto the carpet. 

She looks up at her reflection from under hooded eyes. She sees black. Black hair, black clothes, black eyes, black soul...

When she was little – or, littl _er_ – Bellatrix was... boring. 

Andromeda was intelligent. Narcissa was beautiful. Sirius was confident. Her mother was proud. Her father was silent. Mark from down the road was funny. Nicola from school was cute. Jennifer her family friend was tall. 

Bellatrix was... not much. 

It is a very human tendency to want to over-simplify everything and everyone. Children know this more than anyone. As the children around her focussed on the day-to-day dramas of life, Bellatrix tried to understand the world. Everything was ranked, classified, defined. Things were... _easier_ that way. It didn’t matter that her thoughts were unstructured and broken, they made sense to her. 

Things made sense when they were simple, black and white. 

Narcissa was her parents’ favourite. Bellatrix knew it was because she was beautiful. ( _Even though it was just that they liked her simplicity, her simple uncomplicatedness._ ) 

Everyone else liked Andromeda. Bellatrix knew it was because she was clever. ( _Even though it was just that they recognised something else in her, something distinctly un-Black_.)

Sirius was popular and it was because he was confident. Her parents were famous and it was because they were silent and proud. Mark had the most friends and it was because he made people laugh. Nicola had the best clothes and it was because she was cute. Jennifer got what she wanted and it was because she was tall.

This is how Bellatrix pieced the world together. This is how she understood. 

But Bellatrix, in her way of thinking, was nothing and it was because she was nothing. Nothing but nothing. 

Bellatrix Black sits cross-legged in front of a mirror. 

She looks at her eyes. _Eyes are windows into your soul_ , that’s what her mother says. Black eyes ( _the rest hardly needs saying_ )...  


One day someone asked her who she was. He was making fun of her. Bellatrix knew that he was making fun of the little scrawny girl with black hair and hooded eyes and no friends and...

“Who _are_ you?” he asked again, his ugly little nose pointing in her face. ( _Everyone was afraid of him and it was because he had a strange nose_. _Bellatrix knew that_.) 

“I’m Bellatrix Black, _Muggle_.” Her faced scrunched up as she said it. Her face always scrunched up when she spoke. 

He looked at her, perplexed. 

“Bellatrix Black,” she repeated, hugging herself. “Bellatrix. Black. Bellatrix Black. Black. Black. Black.” 

Bellatrix Black sits cross-legged in front of a mirror. 

She stares at her eyes. Blacker than black.... 

The first thing Bellatrix ever read was written something written on the wall. She recognised it as a shape before she recognised it as words, that was how it seemed, printed in her mind.

_The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_. 

Bellatrix Black was Noble and Ancient. That was very... _not_ boring. 

It wasn’t attention she wanted. It was  reputation. She wanted to be known. She didn’t care if she was liked or talked to or even looked at. She wanted people to think of something when they thought of her, just in the way that she did. ( _She didn’t know that most people didn’t think of things when they thought of people_.) 

Bellatrix Black sits cross-legged in front of a mirror. 

She looks down at her hands...

One day she cut her finger on a rock. There was a sharp sting and the rock was red. There was a mark on her finger. 

Bellatrix was fascinated. 

Blood. 

That night she looked at her wrist. She squeezed her arm as hard as she could. Her fingers felt numb. The purple lines running down her arm got darker. She let go of her tight grip. She touched her veins. She felt her blood. Pulsing under her skin.

_... Blood is thicker than water ... Blood moves the wheel of history ... Blood will tell too much ... _

Bellatrix brain almost hurt as she thought. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. 

She had blood, Black blood. Blood from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. 

This blood is better than blood. This is why she is known. This is how she can be known. This is how she will be known. 

Her blood will never change. She will always cling to her blood as her veins cling to her skin. 

Bellatrix Black sits cross-legged in front of a mirror. 

She looks at her hands. Stained with blood... 

She takes the knife to her other hand. She cuts another jagged mark to match the first.

Blood trickles onto the carpet. 

Bellatrix laughs. She doesn’t enjoy the pain, she doesn’t even feel it. 

She sees her blood, red. It looks _right_ next to her black. Black and red.

Bellatrix Black sits cross-legged in front of a mirror. 

She looks into her black eyes ( _windows into her black soul_ ). She looks at her blood ( _Black blood_.)

Her hands will be stained with more blood as her soul is stained with death. Her eyes will get darker as her soul becomes blacker. 

She will be known. 

_There’s a thing in my pocket. Blood. Black blood._  


End file.
